"Try to remember the kind of September......"

Half remembered lyrics have a way of surfacing and hanging around until you are forced to track them down in their entirity, rummage through stacks of vinyl for the album, and sing along with them as they pour off the scratched disks that harbor them.

For some reason the tone arm is stuck in the groove, looping "Try to remember" in that functional gray matter that processes music and words. I've just learned that the version I probably used to learn the song was a Brothers Four record. I've yet to see the musical, The Fantastiks, that the song was written for. I've heard it done by the Kingston Trio.

My musical tastes reach back a long way to include Klezmer, Dixie Land, Big Band, BeBop, West Coast Jazz, folk, blue grass, rock of the 50s and 60s, and improvisational rock such as The Grateful Dead. So there are a lot of sentimental ballads learned from albums with cover pictures of college friends in sweaters with guitars and banjos, kicking around my brain; just waiting to sneak a broken lyric into the stream of consciousness.

This morning required that I drive into Johnson City and check in with the VA hospital. When I reached the highway the clouds were still about half way down the mountains, valleys all filled with mist. No matter which road we take from home or toward home, the view is ever-changing and beautiful.

VA wanted me to provide them with urine and to allow them to review my meds. A 55 mile round trip for ten minutes worth of actual patient interaction. But part of the morning was no problem. The grim bit of the day began as I joined another thirty or so vehicles in the parking lot dance. The James A Quillen VA hospital is a good facility, staffed by caring, competent professional and ancillary staff. But the facility is so short of patient parking spots that there is a constant brownian motion of cars and trucks driven by people who need to find a place to park before they are late for their appointment. Today, it took me 25 minutes of circling and hoping before I was lucky enough to be the first in line as someone got into a car. It was an awkward spot, with a deep pothole where the left front wheel needed to be. And I took it gratefully,called Gloria to let her know I was there, and hiked off to primary care. When I returned to the Pathfinder, there was a driver following me, just hoping that I was actually going to get into my vehicle and leave. I made his morning and left.

"The Kind of September...."

I've always looked forward to September. The tick and mosquito population has declined, the summer birds haven't flown south yet. Cooler nights make for good camping or just sitting on the deck watching the sunset or stars. Trout are fat and fishing can be fantastic. Hunting seasons are approaching and the promise of venison is worth the anticipation.

It's still warm and the weather patterns have not shifted to winter-like yet. We're not in Florida, tracking hurricanes and putting up storm panels, then taking them down once a week, as we once were. The weather here is pleasant and the promise of fall colors is welcome.

The local kids have been in school for weeks, rather than starting in September, as we did. The World Series is still some time distant instead of being played in September, as we recall.

"The kind of September Gloria and I remember is no more. It was whittled away by changes in school schedules by colleges and high schools that wanted to adopt their semesters to the bowl schedules and the winter holidays. It was nibbled at by expansion baseball teams and schedules. And it was seriously affected by technical and cultural changes that make us all too glad to keep our car windows closed and the A/C on in hopes of blocking some of the noise from surrounding cars, driven by people who insist on forcing everyone within a 2 kilometer radius to hear what they regard as music.

"Try to remember the kind of September..."
That leads, directly past go to
"Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow."

The best years of my life began in December of 1992. So while I've a musical and cultural attachment to the 50's and 60's, I've no desire to relive them. My best memories and dreams call me forward, not backward.

Hopefully, the next bit of lyric that escapes and demands attention will be less mawkish, better to listen to, and better to dance to.